


Perfect

by crisiskris



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M, Poetry Made Them Do It, Secret Santa, Something Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 18:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13440984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crisiskris/pseuds/crisiskris
Summary: Scott thinks he's come up with the perfect way to get rid of Logan for good...





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after X2. Written for the Slash Advent Calendar, 2004, December 11th.

It was Christmas time at the Xavier Institute for the Gifted, and the place was buzzing with energy and excitement.  Most of the children who lived at the Institute were runaways (or throwaways) and had nowhere to go for the holidays, so the staff took extra care to make sure that Christmas meant fun, not loneliness and grief: there was a gigantic tree crowding the dining room that all the kids had helped decorate.  Kurt Wagner had amused them in the process by teleporting up to the top to hang ornaments on the highest branches, and then quickly teleporting back to the ground before gravity took hold.  When they were nearly done, he scooped up one of the younger children and teleported with her so she could place the star on the highest bough of the tree.  Now it glittered madly, twinkling with lights, tinsel, and shiny decorations.  Gradually the space beneath the tree filled up with gaily wrapped presents that made even the most cynical student’s eyes light up.

While Charles had made sure that every student – and every teacher – got an ‘official’ present from the Institute, they had also decided to do something different this year.  They were going to have a Secret Santa.  Students came from all over the place and arrived at different times during the year, so some had less of a chance to make friends before the holidays, and Charles had worried that they would feel hurt if they got less presents than others.  Storm had suggested that instead of exchanging presents with their friends, the kids should all exchange presents in the Secret Santa.  Upon hearing the idea, Jubilee argued that the staff should be included too, since they also tended to come from all over the place at different times; Kurt, for instance, had only been around for a few months.  Soon, everyone was involved – even Charles.

They drew names on a perfect December evening – it was chilly, but not freezing cold outside, and there was the lightest dusting of snow falling, white against the darkening blue sky visible through the windows.  Supper was over and everyone was full and happy, drinking hot chocolate in the soft glow of the brightly lit tree.  Storm passed around scraps of paper and everyone wrote their names down and dumped them in a box.  Even Logan participated, which surprised Charles – and pleased him to no end.  He’d expected the solitary man to pack up and leave as soon as they’d returned to the mansion after Jean’s death at Alkali Lake, but he had stayed, providing rudimentary first aid services that he’d picked up somewhere along the line until they were able to find a replacement doctor.  After Dr. Hank McCoy had arrived, Logan had come to Charles and offered to fix the roof, which hadn’t been properly looked after in several years. Then it was another reason, and then another. 

He hadn’t been quite so inclined to participate in the goings on of the school, however, and had initially balked at joining the Secret Santa.  It had been Rogue that eventually talked him into it, arguing at first that he had to, because otherwise there would be an odd number of names and someone would be left out, and then promising that if he got a name he didn’t know what to do with, she would help.  They weren’t technically supposed to tell each other who they had, but no one minded making Logan the exception to the rule.  After all, wasn’t he always?

Now, Logan had his hand in the box, digging through the scraps of paper in order to pull out the name of the person he would buy a gift for.  He finally decided on one and pulled his hand out, unfolding the little piece.  Reading the name, he nodded, looking very relieved.  Storm gave him a little smile, glad that he’d pulled a name he thought he could handle, and moved on to the next teacher in line.

That teacher was Scott.  He thrust his hand into the box, grabbed the first piece of paper he found, and withdrew.  The evening was wearing on, and they were almost finished, so Storm moved on to Charles Xavier even as Scott opened his paper.  He stared at the name in shock:

Logan.

He’d pulled Logan’s name.  Scott’s heart skipped a beat.  Of all the names he could have gotten… his mouth suddenly felt dry, and his skin felt flushed.  He glanced up quickly to see if anyone had noticed, but most of the students had already moved off, their faces thoughtful as they schemed about what presents to buy.  Only Storm and Charles remained; the former was re-hanging a couple of ornaments that had fallen off the tree.  The latter was looking back at Scott, looking inquisitive and a little surprised.  Scott flushed fully and turned away.  Mumbling something about checking on the kids, he fled the room, feeling Charles’ eyes burning into him as he went.

***

That night Scott found it impossible to sleep.  He tossed and turned in his bed, replaying the evening in his head.  Why had he been so embarrassed to draw Logan’s name?  Why had he flushed and run away when Charles looked at him?  Honestly, he was acting like a school boy.  Like a lovesick…

Wait a minute.

“That’s ridiculous,” he dismissed aloud.  “It’s preposterous.  There’s simply no way.  I am not in love with Logan.”  The words sounded loud and harsh in the quiet of his empty room, echoing off the spaces that Jeannie used to fill before she’d died to save them all.  “Jesus Christ,” he finished, sitting up and rubbing his face.

He stood and strode to the en suite bathroom, pouring a glass of water.  A few deep breaths helped to clear his head.  “It’s just that I have no idea what to get the guy,” he reasoned, heading back towards bed.  “I mean, what do you give to a man who thinks you’re an asshole – whom you think is an asshole too?  We hate each other.  That’s all – I just don’t feel like putting the effort into finding a gift for a man that I hate.”  Convinced, he lay his head back down and drifted off to sleep.

***

Scott woke up in a foul mood the next morning.  His night had been full of shadowy dreams, little wisps of images that hardly framed a story, and which drifted out of his head as soon as they came in.  He therefore couldn’t remember much of them, save for a few images.  One was of Logan, spread naked before him, with his eyes shut, his body covered in a fine coat of sweat. Another was of three Adamantium claws swinging in a slow motion arc towards Scott’s head.  Inexplicably, he’d woken with a hard on – a hard on that demanded attention.  And when Scott gave it what it wanted, the images that came unbidden to his mind as he came were not of a certain lovely red headed woman.  They were of…

“Argh!” Scott was thrust out of his thoughts by the severe pain in his left hand, which was now red and starting to blister.  He’d picked up the metal frying pan that he was cooking his eggs in without grabbing a towel to wrap around the handle first.  “Damn it!”  His shouts brought him to the attention of the other occupants in the kitchen – Charles and Logan.  Perfect.

Logan came up to him, perfunctorily examining the hand.  “Hold still,” he demanded, reaching into the nearby freezer for some ice.  He wrapped the ice in a tea towel and pressed the towel against Scott’s hand.  “Ten minutes on, ten minutes off,” he instructed.  “Don’t put any of that painkiller crap on it, you’ll only make it worse.  Let me know if the blisters break.”

Scott nodded, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that his hand lay in Logan’s gentle grip, and flushed.  He pulled his hand away.  “I’m fine,” he snapped.  “It’s minor.”

“I’m only trying to help,” Logan replied. 

“I don’t need your help.”

Abandoning his eggs, Scott stormed out of the kitchen, well aware that Charles was *looking* at him again.  As he rounded the corner, heading towards his office, he heard Logan complaining loudly, “what’s crawled up his ass and died?”

Scott took the last few steps at a near-run and yanked his office door open, slamming it behind him as he entered the room.  “I hate that man!” he cried, slumping against the desk.  He was breathing heavily, as red as a beet.  ‘Goddamn it’, he thought.  What the hell was wrong with him?

***

  It wasn’t surprising that Charles came into his office about ten minutes later.  “That was quite a display,” he said, his voice amused. 

Scott bit back the urge to snarl.  “I’m glad you were entertained,” he replied.  Charles only looked at him with compassion and gentleness in his eyes.  Finally Scott relented.  “I know,” he said, averting his gaze.  “I acted like an idiot.  I know.”

“I don’t mean to pry, Scott,” Charles replied, almost hesitantly.  “However, the other night, you were – projecting your thoughts quite loudly.”  Scott stiffened but said nothing.  “I only want to say – if you are attracted to him, why not admit it to yourself?  I’m not suggesting any course of action; it would hardly be my place.  But it pains me, Scott, to see you trying to stifle your feelings in this way.”

“It’s not that simple,” Scott replied, gritting his teeth.

Charles sighed.  “I’m sure it isn’t,” he replied, feeling his way through the conversation.  “Scott, it wouldn’t be a betrayal of Jean, of your love for Jean, if you were to admit to yourself that you were physically attracted to another human being.  After all, Jean herself was in that same position, and she didn’t betray your love.”

“That’s not it.”  To his dismay, Scott found that he was blushing again, heat radiating off his cheeks. “I don’t want to talk about it, Charles, I just want it to go *away*.”  He slammed his fist against his desk to emphasize the point.

Charles was silent for a moment, probing.  “Oh – I see,” he said then.  “Forgive me, Scott.  I was mistaken about the source of your discomfort.  You’re concerned that your feelings of sexual attraction for Logan may have implications for your sexual identity.”

“Do you have to be so clinical about it?” Scott slumped down in his chair, eyes firmly planted on his shoes.  Charles had always been like this.  Scott remembered his first ‘birds and bees’ lecture from the man, way back when he was fifteen years old and had just arrived at the Institute.  It was the same now – when the conversation turned to sex, Charles became a lecturer.  It only made it worse.

“I’m sorry,” Charles apologized again.  “Just please – think about accepting your feelings rather than denying them?  I hate to see you in such pain.”  Leaving it at that, Charles gracefully wheeled himself around and let himself out of the office. 

Scott let out a breath once he was gone, grateful to be alone. “Son of a bitch,” he commented to the air.  “I’m too old to be having an identity crisis.”

***

The next night, the dreams were even more explicit, and less deniable.  Scott woke early in the morning, skin flushed, already coming.  “Damn it,” he cursed, riding out the last of his orgasm.  He felt like a teenager again!  ‘That’s the last straw,’ he thought, throwing his boxers into the laundry hamper disgustedly.  ‘Somehow this has to change.’

At breakfast, Scott spent much of his time repeating, ‘I am not attracted to Logan’ in his head like a mantra.  He alternated thinking about the words with visualizing really grotesque, awful, disgusting things, things that turned him off completely, in an effort to associate Logan with revulsion.  It didn’t work.  In the midst of all the focused meditative work, little images from his dreams kept sneaking in, and the more he tried not to think about it, the more he thought about it, until he finally had to stop trying not to think about it at all, for fear that accidentally thinking about it would leave him with an unmistakable hard on for his first class of the day.

By lunch time that day, Scott had decided that the best solution to his problem was to take away the source of the discomfort – Logan.  The man was bound to leave any minute now anyway, so what did it matter?  It was simply a question of how to drive Logan out the door, and how hard could that be?

By supper time, he’d come upon the perfect plan – it would drive Logan away forever, and get Charles off his back at the same time.  He was going to tell Logan that he’d fallen hopelessly in love with him, and that he couldn’t stop dreaming about being in his arms.  Logan was straighter than a ruler-edge; added to this was the fact that he *hated* Scott, detested him in fact, *loathed* him… it was perfect.  Scott would come on to Logan, Logan would head for the hills, and Charles would be appeased because Scott had been honest about his true feelings.  Then, with Logan gone, whatever aberration was going on in Scott’s libido would sort itself out, and he could get back to missing Jeannie and imagining her when he jerked off in the dark of night.  Perfect.

***

The next night, Scott reveled in his dreams.  Why not?  The problem would soon be solved.  The truth about his attraction to Logan would be his Secret Santa gift to the man, and Logan would vanish without a trace after that, so there was no point in fretting about it until after Christmas.  Thus, with permission, Scott gave himself over to his desires, sweating and moaning through a pleasure filled night full of sordid dreams and shadowy acts.  He woke in the morning, sticky with come, with a smile on his face.

***

Finally, Christmas Eve arrived.  The entire house was buzzing with excitement as, one by one, the Secret Santa presents appeared, ready to opened first thing the next morning.  There was a steady stream of children trooping into the dining room, checking and re-checking the tree.  As soon as one discovered his or her present, they would squeal with delight, swooping down to pick it up and shake it, smell it, weigh it and otherwise try to guess what it was.  Barry, a thin young man with X-ray vision, was ‘disappointed’ (but secretly delighted) to find out that whoever had picked his name had thought to wrap his present first in a lead apron, borrowed from the medi-lab, so he couldn’t see through it. 

Soon, the space below the tree was packed with presents, and they had spilled out onto the floor, piled up on the nearest table.  It was going to be a splendid Christmas.  Kids were laughing and yelling, racing around the dining room, hopped up on sugar from hot chocolate and candy canes.  “Can we open them now?” they kept asking, trying all sorts of arguments about  how ‘at home, we always opened our presents on Christmas eve’ in order to win the teachers over.  Storm, however, was in charge, and she was strong in the face of adversity.  The answer was firmly ‘no’.

Logan wandered in around ten p.m. and plopped his present down.  Scott found his eyes followed the man as he turned and walked toward the cafeteria bar to pour himself a cup of coffee.  Logan’s thighs were lean and muscular, leading up to a firm ass and a tight waist, which opened into a masculine chest and broad shoulders.  Scott let his gaze wander up and down, abandoning himself to his lust. 

“Huh,” Logan suddenly said, looking a bit surprised.  He was watching Scott with his head cocked to one side, as though he’d been sniffing. 

Shit!  Scott realized belatedly that he was aroused, that he had been aroused for the last few minutes, and that Logan could sense this from his smell.  He blushed, ducking his head, and was about to leave when a little voice in his brain piped up, ‘why bother?  It fits into the plan perfectly.  So what if he’s suspicious?’  The voice had a point, Scott supposed, settling back into his chair.  He gave Logan another long look, raising one eyebrow almost in challenge.  Logan narrowed his eyes, but in thought rather than anger.  Then, with a small shake of his head, he turned and walked out.  Scott grinned – it was going to work.

***

Christmas day was chilly and clear.  The sun streamed in the windows, reflecting off the snowdrifts outside.  It caught the glitter on the ornaments and lit the tree up on its own, making it sparkle just as though the electric lights were plugged in.  For a moment, it was a peaceful, idyllic Christmas scene… and then the kids woke up.

After that, it was a madhouse, as children came running down the stairs and tore open their presents, shrieking in delight as they realized who their Secret Santas were.  Scott dutifully opened his presents – a leather bound journal from Charles Xavier, his subtle way of reminding Scott that he should pay attention to his feelings; and an equally sophisticated looking agenda for the coming year, courtesy of Kitty.  “Thank you,” he said sincerely, “it’s lovely.”  She smiled. 

Scott turned his attention to the corner of the room, where Bobby had cornered Logan and was now hugging him with great emotion.  Logan returned the hug awkwardly, patting the boy on the back.  “Glad you liked it, kid,” he said gruffly.  “Marie helped w’ the cover and all that.”  Bobby held a home-made book in his hand, entitled ‘Offensive and Defensive Techniques Involving the Use of Ice and other Cold Weather Methods.’

“I can’t believe you came up with all these, just for me,” Bobby enthused, flipping through.  Logan had provided text to explain more than one hundred moves, complete with illustrations. 

Logan shrugged.  “You said you wanted to fight,” he replied.  

Just then, Marie called over to the young man.  “Hey, Bobby, come look at this!” Logan was left alone.  Scott decided now was the time to make his move.

“You haven’t opened your gifts yet,” he said slyly, pointing to the two neatly wrapped presents on the table.  

Logan shrugged noncommittally.  “Thought I’d save ‘em for later,” he replied.

“Oh, come on Logan.  Somewhere in this room, your Secret Santa is feeling anxious about whether or not you liked your gift.  You should open it so you can say thanks.” 

“Alright, alright, but only ‘cause it might be a kid,” Logan replied, picking up the smaller of the two gifts.  Scott leaned closer in anticipation, his heart beating a little quicker.  Logan shot him a look, but said nothing as he tore the paper off.

“Woo-hoo, love poetry,” Storm remarked, looking over Logan’s shoulder as she happened to walk by.  “Looks like someone’s got a crush on you, Logan.  Who’s it from?”

“Never you mind,” Logan replied, but he was staring straight at Scott.  Slowly, he opened the front cover of the book and lowered his eyes to read the inscription.  Then he brought his gaze back up to the other man.  His eyes were flinty and dark.  “Let’s take a walk, Summers,” he growled.  Logan got up and stalked away, not even bothering to check if Scott was following.

***

Scott did, of course, follow him out of the dining room, down the hall and into the office Logan had been using.  Logan was waiting for him, arms crossed.  “Is this some kinda joke?” he asked, his voice hard, when Scott entered and shut the door.

Scott regarded the other man.  He was *mad*.  ‘Good, it’s working,’ he thought.  “What do you mean?” he said out loud.

“You wanna explain to me why a book o’ love poems that reeks to high heaven of fear and lust has got a declaration of love for me signed in the front cover – from you?” Logan voice was low, and it shot through Scott’s body like a lead bullet, dropping heat into his groin.  He shivered.

“It’s true,” he replied.  “I love you.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Logan replied, stalking towards the younger man.

“I’m not lying,” Scott turned on as much innocence and infatuation as he could muster.  “I have feelings for you, Logan, and I can’t deny them anymore.”

Logan laughed, grabbing Scott by the shoulders.  “Oh, you got feelings, alright,” he replied, grinding his hips into Scott’s, “But they ain’t associated with love.”  Scott looked up at him in shock, his brain screaming that he should fight the other man off and tell him to get the fuck out, now.  Xavier would order Logan to go if you told him he’d assaulted you, his mind yelled.  But his body, on the other hand, was screaming out for more contact.  Already his cock was rock hard, crushed against Logan’s thigh, and it was all he could do to resist rubbing himself against that leg like a desperate fool.  Caught between his body’s order, ‘stay’, and his mind’s demand to ‘go’, Scott stood frozen as Logan’s mouth descended on his, claiming him.  And then the decision was made.

Scott opened his mouth with a moan, letting Logan’s exploring tongue inside, and abandoned his restraint, grinding against Logan’s leg, feeling Logan’s cock hard against his own.  Logan’s hands moved from his shoulders, one sliding seductively down his back while the other one reached up to tangle in his hair.  Scott, in turn, wrapped his arms around Logan’s body, clinging to him, tightening their embrace.  Meanwhile, the kiss had deepened, and Scott’s tongue battled with Logan’s for dominance, until finally Logan broke off and leaned back to look Scott in the eye.  Both of them were panting.

“All you have to do is say ‘stop’,” Logan said. 

“Fuck you,” Scott replied.

“If you insist.”  Logan dove in again, working his lips down Scott’s jaw, across his neck, into the crook of his shoulder where he latched on and sucked hard.  His hands divested Scott of his button up shirt before sliding down to rid the man of his pants.  When Logan’s hand wrapped around his cock, Scott gasped, his legs giving way.  Logan supported his weight as he backed Scott into the wall, his lips wandering down Scott’s chest.  When Scott was supported against the wall, Logan fell to his knees and replaced his hand with his mouth.

“Oh god, yes,” Scott cried, his hands moving of their own volition to rest on Logan’s head.  “Please, god, yes.”  Logan’s mouth was divine, just the right amount of pressure, sucking and licking and creating the right hot friction, it was incredible, and Scott gasped and bit his lip because he was going to come…

Logan kept sucking until Scott’s orgasm passed.  Scott came back into his body to find Logan just sitting back on his haunches, one hand resting on Scott’s ass, holding him up.  When he saw that Scott was aware again, a gleam came into Logan’s eye.  He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand and stood up, undoing his zip.  “I’m going to fuck you now,” he informed Scott, and then turned him around so he was facing the wall.  Scott felt something wet trickle down the cleft of his ass, followed by Logan’s sticky fingers. Then one, two, and finally three of those fingers slid inside of him, stretching him more than he could have imagined possible.

“I’ve never done this before,” he whispered, suddenly feeling scared.

“First time for everything,” Logan grunted in reply, scissoring his fingers.  Then he took them away, and Scott felt the tip of an impossibly thick cock nudge his entrance.  “Take a breath,” Logan instructed.  Scott gulped in air.  “Breath out.” He did, and as he did, Logan pushed into him, moving in slowly, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt.

“Oh my fucking god,” Scott gasped.  His eyes watered.  It burned – but it felt so good, he had never felt so full before… and then Logan moved.  Scott muffled a scream.

“Did you like that?” Logan muttered in his ear, thrusting in again.  Scott was overcome, he could only nod, gasping and crying. He couldn’t speak.  “Good,” Logan said, apparently satisfied with this reaction.  “Me too.  You’re so tight, you’re so fucking good, Scott, god, yes.”  The litany continued, whispered in his ear, as Logan sped up, and then finally let go of all control, slamming into the slender man with wild abandon. “Fuck yes,” he finished, coming.  Scott felt the hot liquid shoot up inside him.  Logan’s weight pressed against him as the man slumped, energy spent from the orgasm, but Scott didn’t move.  Finally, Logan pushed against the wall and stood up, carefully easing out of the other man.  Scott winced.

“It’ll hurt tomorrow,” Logan commented, using a bandana to wipe himself off.  He turned Scott around gently and wiped the other man clean.  “Get dressed, it’s almost lunch time,” he finished.

Scott complied, feeling shaky and disoriented.  When he’d finished, he looked up. Logan was sitting on the desk, watching him.  “I’m not gay,” he said defensively.

“Neither am I,” Logan replied. 

“But…”

“It’s just sex, Scott.  It’s nothing to be ashamed of.  I’ve been smelling desire on you for weeks.  It’s only in the last few days I realized it was directed at me.  If you want to fuck, just ask – you don’t need love poetry with me, okay?”

“Logan…” Scott floundered.  How could he possibly explain the conflict within him?  It was perfectly okay for Logan to say it was just sex.  He was the one that would leave any minute now.  Scott was the one who had to stay, had to be left.  The one who’d never done anything like this before.  His face flushed; he was confused and embarrassed, and he didn’t know what to say. 

Logan stood up and came over.  To Scott’s surprise, he found himself wrapped in a gentle embrace.  “Don’t, Scott.  Don’t worry about it.  Don’t try to figure it all out.  Just let yourself enjoy something for once, okay?”

 “For as long as it lasts, right?” Scott couldn’t help the bitter resignation in his voice. 

Logan surprised him again.  He laughed.  Squeezing the other man tight for a moment, and then letting him go, Logan looked straight into Scott’s eyes. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere, Summers, you’re stuck with me.  Merry Christmas.”  And with that, he turned on his heel, still chuckling, and strode out of the room.

Scott collapsed against the desk, feeling breathless.  Not going anywhere.  Logan had decided to stay at the mansion.  He knew the thought should have him boiling over in anger, but instead the warmth he felt was positive, kind of a glowing feeling around his heart.  “Merry Christmas,” he whispered back. 

Outside, the sun glinted off the pristine snow banks.  Laughing children could be heard playing.  It was the perfect Christmas Day.

***


End file.
